


Ice Cream in July

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon Tumblr Prompt: "Marco and Jean spend the night in the woods and wake up to the <strike>sunset</strike> sunrise. [Bonus: if there's a bit NSFW scenes]"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream in July

The forest is dark, and Jean regrets not wearing his ODM gear and boots. He still doesn’t know why he’s followed Marco here, even though they’re still on the outskirts of the forest.

It’s the night before graduation, and Jean had heard Marco tossing and turning in the bunk above him, restless. To be fair, though, they’re all restless, since no one really knows who will be in the top ten cadets—offered the opportunity to join the Military Police; or as second choice, the Garrison. 

Jean knows that the third option is really just a death sentence reserved for the unskilled, though. Or if your name is Eren Yeager and you’re stupid enough to actually volunteer.

Jean is relatively sure he got into the top ten; he’s done the math several times over, kept track of all his grades, and compared himself to others over the last few years. His sole purpose since he came here was to live on the Interior, have a cushy, safe life deep within the Wall, and escape any threat from the outside. 

Any normal person would’ve gotten a good night’s sleep the night before graduation.

Any normal person would be saying a set of last, desperate prayers to whatever god might exist—maybe even the Wall itself—that they end up on that precious top ten list.

Instead, Jean finds himself pushing through weeds, thistles, and underbrush to follow Marco Bodt in some strange midnight hike through the woods. 

He doesn’t want to shout to get Marco’s attention because they might get caught. Jean isn’t even sure how they’d be punished at this point, though—maybe a boot to the stomach from Shadis. At least the bottom line is no longer a one-way wagon ride to a life of toiling in the fields, bent under a merciless sun, until collapsing from dehydration and sorrow.

“Marco,” he finally hisses, and then cringes as a few deer dart out in front of him and make a racket as they careen in the other direction.

At least it gets Marco’s attention as he turns in surprise to squint in the darkness.

Jean can see the surprise register on his face as he realizes who’s followed him for the last five minutes, and Jean throws his hands up.

“What are you _doing?_ ” he hisses, striding toward Marco. The ferns around his feet make a swishing sound and they slap against his legs through his pants; he’s so used to wearing the high boots, it feels strange.

Marco’s eyebrows are raised, and he looks strangely innocent in the moonlight that’s filtering through the trees.

“It’s graduation tomorrow, you moron,” Jean continues, slapping Marco in the shoulder. “Why are you out here running around in the damn woods?”

“Why’d you follow me?” Marco asks, tilting his head to the side. Unlike Jean, he’s dressed in his ODM gear.

“I...” Jean frowns at him, looking for an answer. “Well, you just disappeared...” Jean falters and bites his lip, until finally saying in a harsh, hushed voice, “Why the hell are you _out_ here to be followed?”

“I wanted to look at the stars,” Marco replies immediately, giving a sheepish little smile. “It’s the last time we’re ever going to be here.”

“I’ll leave the memories to the trees and all the times I almost fell out of them,” Jean replies flatly, raising an eyebrow. “And all the times I vomited the first year here from running five miles without stopping.”

Marco laughs a little under his breath and shrugs. “Seems like a really long time ago,” he says simply, and then turns to keep walking.

“Where are you _going?_ ” Jean asks curiously, still following despite his declaration of Marco’s stupidity.

“There’s a ravine,” Marco replies, still making his way forward. He’s going at a leisurely pace now, though, and Jean doesn’t have to struggle to keep up anymore; he does get a surprised look over Marco’s shoulder, though, when it’s obvious he intends to keep following. “You can see all the stars, and at the bottom, there’s even a little pond. It’s nice.”

“Um, whatever,” Jean murmurs, but keeps pace with Marco. “You pick this night of all nights to be nostalgic?” 

When Marco doesn’t answer, though, Jean keeps walking.

They don’t talk for a while, making their way slowly through the undergrowth, and Jean notices suddenly how tall Marco’s gotten. He’d been tall even from the first day, but Jean hadn’t noticed what Marco looked like since he was too preoccupied with the fact that Marco sounded like a naive idiot.

“So,” Jean says suddenly, catching Marco’s attention, “speaking of nostalgia, you still want to give ‘life and limb’ to the king?”

Marco doesn’t answer, and walks a little faster.

“Do you still want to live a comfortable, cushy life on the Interior?” Marco retorts after a moment, not looking at Jean.

“Of course,” Jean immediately replies mechanically. “You really think I would’ve stayed all this time for any other reason?”

There’s a short silence filled with only the sounds of Jean’s shoes and Marco’s boots beating back the weeds and dirt, and then Marco finally speaks, his voice flat.

“I’m not sure I got in,” he says, still walking.

Jean almost bites his tongue his mouth snaps shut so quickly, and he stops abruptly with a rustle of ferns.

“ _Stop,_ ” he barks, pointing at Marco’s back. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marco stops, and doesn’t turn for a moment; panic surges in Jean as he sees how tense Marco’s shoulders are, and he realizes that Marco’s completely serious.

“I really don’t know,” Marco repeats with a shrug. Finally, he slowly turns around to face Jean. “I might not be good enough, so I guess if that’s the case, I’ll join the Garrison. I just want to be of use.”

Jean stares at him in disbelief, and then meets Marco’s eyes. They just look at each other, and when Marco shrugs indifferently, Jean’s anger flares.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he growls. “You’re one of the best trainees here.”

Marco just sighs. “I just want to go look at the stars,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to think about tomorrow right now, okay? Why don’t you just go back to bed and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jean just blinks at him in surprise, and can’t muster the heart to rebuke him further. Especially not when Marco smiles—just a little, his mouth upturned at just one side—and says, “You’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

And then, just like that, he turns and keeps walking.

Jean stands there, frozen in place and blinking through the pale moonlight and shadows of trees, his pupils dilated with adrenaline and his hands fisted.

He hasn’t imagined life after training without Marco since the second week they became unlikely friends. He can’t imagine life in the Military Police without Marco there.

But he’s only just now realized it—that every time he’s dreamed about what life would be like in the Interior, he’s always pictured Marco there with him.

_“I know you want to be all noble or whatever,” Jean said, grinning at Marco lazily where he was lying on his bunk, one leg crossed lazily over the other, lethargic with summer heat, “but can you imagine all those stone chambers? I bet there’s tons of places to stay cool.”_

_Marco had laughed a little, and for once, given up his innate sense of purpose, and replied, “Yeah.” He bit his lip, and then admitted in a comedically childish voice, “I also really like ice cream in the summer.”_

_That day, they’d made a promise just between themselves. The big ones were still in place, too—Marco’s dedication to the king, and Jean’s resolution to live comfortably in the Interior—but they’d both promised that when they finally joined the Military Police, they’d eat real ice cream together in July._

“Marco!” Jean shouts, not caring anymore if he wakes anyone up. They’re far enough away that it’s unlikely anyway, but Marco is a good ways ahead of him now; so Jean runs after him, trying not to let the stiff underbrush tear his pants.

Marco turns again as if he didn’t expect Jean to keep following him, and then Jean stops. “How far is the ravine?”

“About five minutes now,” Marco replies softly, looking at Jean with a puzzled expression. “It’s fine, Jean. You don’t have to come.”

“I want to look at the stars, too,” he insists. “I guess you’re right... that we’ll never be here again. I’m not going to miss it, but... well, yeah.”

It _has_ been some version of home for the past several years; what Jean won’t admit on pain of death, though, is that he’s never felt as at home as he does when he’s with Marco.

Marco is the best friend he’s ever had.

Marco smiles a little, and his eyes have a soft look. “Okay,” he agrees quietly. 

They walk in silence now at a slower pace, and finally, the forest opens up to an impressive view on the edge of a ravine, looking down into a valley.

“It’s pretty,” Marco says, dropping down on the grassy embankment to lie on his back, hands behind his head, and stare at the sky.

It’s cool outside and everything is highlighted in a slightly blue tinge; the entire forest is stretched out in front of them, and in the distance, there are mountain peaks. 

Jean decides to not worry about dirt and sits down next to him. He doesn’t lie back, but does crane his neck to look up at the stars.

“There’s a lot of them, huh?” he asks breathlessly, forgetting himself for a moment.

“Sort of like people,” Marco remarks. “Endless amounts.”

Jean looks over at Marco from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t comment. 

Marco’s lying out, his body long and lean, different than how Jean first remembers him. When they’d first encountered each other, Jean had gotten a knee in the gut and Marco had just awkwardly declared his very existence and life to the king.

“Can I ask you something?” Jean asks softly, and Marco turns his head slightly to look at Jean.

Jean adjusts himself in the soft grass and draws his knees up against his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“Sure,” Marco replies easily, not a touch of hesitation.

“Why did you want to pledge your life to the king?”

“That’s what we’ve always done in Jinae,” Marco replies immediately, shrugging a little.

“What about now?”

“Well,” Marco says, his voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation, “I might not get the chance.”

Jean just sighs and rolls his eyes; the truth is, he doesn’t want to think about it.

Marco closes his eyes after a moment, and the sounds of the forest rise up all around them. There are bullfrogs in the pond at the foot of the ravine; the wind blows gently through the trees above them; and then all Jean can hear is Marco’s quiet breathing.

“I could stay here forever,” Marco says softly, a little, bittersweet smile curling his lips.

“Is that what you want?”

“Want?” Marco asks, his eyes opening. “Um, I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You’re allowed to want things,” Jean says, releasing his knees to cross his arms over his chest. He’s not sure whether it’s defensive or self-righteous, but he doesn’t particularly care right now, “beyond losing your limbs for some asshole king.”

“ _Jean,_ ” Marco breathes in shock.

“Well, whatever,” Jean retorts sulkily. “There’s no doubt you’re getting into the Military Police. You scored really well on the last quarter of ODM gear training, and then I know Shadis gave you extra credit for being so good at the equestrian lessons... which overall, gave you at least a B+ average, so...”

Marco is openly staring at him now as Jean recites his rather intimate knowledge of Marco’s grades, and then he snaps his mouth shut.

“Well,” he finally says, looking down at his vest to play with the buttons idly, “I kept tabs on everyone.”

“You asked me what I want?” Marco echoes Jean’s question.

“Yeah,” Jean says with a casual shrug that belies his interest. 

“I want ice cream in July,” Marco replies, rolling onto his side to swat Jean playfully in the leg, “ _before_ I lose any limbs in service to the king, at least.”

Jean feels his throat tighten unexpectedly. “Yeah,” he replies, “me too.”

“I mean,” Marco says very quietly, looking down at the ground where he’s lying on his side now, trailing his fingertips idly through the grass, “don’t forget to come visit me once in a while if I end up in the Garrison.” He laughs softly, and Jean can see the blush rising in his cheeks at his own sentimental request.

“You are such a moron,” Jean murmurs, before moving to push Marco onto his back and staring down at him. 

Marco’s dark eyes are wide—taken off guard for once—and Jean just frowns at him. He has both of his hands on either side of Marco’s head, half-leaning over him, as if unsure now of what his intentions are.

His breath catches as Marco’s hand rises to brush through the hair at Jean’s temple and then down to his neck; the touch is light, tentative, and painfully tender.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Marco breathes, and Jean doesn’t need to be told twice.

Marco’s lips are soft and hesitant as their mouths meet, and Jean grasps Marco’s shoulder hard. The grass is cool and soft against his other hand, and he opens his mouth shyly; Marco moans in the back of his throat, and Jean closes his eyes.

He feels lost in an inky sky full of starlight and Marco’s touches, galaxies away from the Wall, Titans, the military and even the future. Right here—right now—is all that matters. He could stay here forever, too.

Marco murmurs his name and he pulls Jean down on top of him, more confident in the way he touches Jean than the way Jean touches him, but patient and terribly sincere—Marco, through and through.

What should be surprising and a little frightening isn’t; they undress each other in pieces and explore each other’s skin with their mouths without hesitation. Their confidence could be attributed to the particular night this has ended up happening, or maybe it’s just because it never makes sense to waste time in their world.

Jean is kissing at Marco’s hips and sliding his gear and pants down, when Marco arches his back with a gasp and says, “I want you. I want ice cream in July and you.”

Jean doesn’t answer directly—can’t, for fear of what he’ll say—so he nods his head and takes Marco’s hand.

“You’ll get in,” he says. “Stop worrying about something so stupid.”

They spend a long time mapping out each other’s bodies, and contrary to his own resolution to keep quiet, Jean whispers some things into Marco’s ear he didn’t plan on in the intervening hours; Marco does, too.

When Jean is sweaty and his voice feels hoarse from moaning and whimpering, and Marco is pressing tired, sleepy kisses against his forehead, he says, “Let’s just stay here until the sun comes up. No one is going to notice if we’re late back to the bunks—not today.”

Marco squeezes his hand and nods.

Jean falls asleep against Marco just before the dark sky slowly disappears in the wake of a bright sun, and he dreams of a sweet summer.


End file.
